


Kjoll: Dragonborn

by ShipperOfTheShips



Series: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bisexual Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Bisexual Female Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Dragons, Gen, Gore, Main Questline, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, also for preexisting npcs, slight gore, so credit for that goes to bethesda, some dialogue in the first few chapters in straight from the game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperOfTheShips/pseuds/ShipperOfTheShips
Summary: Follow Kjoll as she discovers what it means to be the great Dragonborn of legend.(this is literally just the main questline from my dragonborn's pov)





	1. Helgen

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter is very dialogue heavy and i'm sorry for that, but it evens out (i hope) through the next chapters

Kjoll groaned under her breath as she came too. She shook her head and tried to brush her hair away from her face, only to find that her wrists were bound. Her shoulders felt oddly light and glanced down at herself with a curse. Her armor was gone and she was left in a ragged tunic. Shocked, she cursed again and looked around herself.

She was on a wooden cart, rattling along a stone street. On the bench beside her was a Nord man in furs with a gag around his mouth. Across from her were two other Nords; one in Stormcloak armor and the other in rags. The rebel across from her looked familiar, like she’d known him before. When he noticed her watching him, the Stormcloak addressed her.

“Hey, you,” he said, not unkindly. “You're finally awake. You were at the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

Kjoll started to nod, but stopped when the motion sent a pang through her temple.

The doe she’d been hunting had lead her toward Darkwater Pass. She’d set up camp a mile or so away and had planned on eating what she could of the doe and selling the rest when she reached Riften. However, as she prepared to send the final arrow, she’d heard the sounds of battle to the north. Curious, and eager to join a fight, she’d abandoned her hunt and headed toward the sound of clashing steel.

As she’d stormed into the clearing, she was met with a noise as loud as thunder. An invisible force had slammed into her chest and sent her flying. The last thing she remembered was the thunk of her armor splintering the trunk of a thick oak and the burst of agony as her head smacked against a boulder.

The man gave a sympathetic grimace as he inspected the left side of her face, which she was certain was bruised. She could feel that her eye was nearly swollen shut but wasn’t too worried about it as that eye was useless anyways thanks to a Spriggan attack when she was young. Instead, she looked closer at the soldier in front of her. She was sure that she knew him, that familiar empathetic expression. She’d grown up with that look being turned on her when they’d been caught together doing something they shouldn’t have been, but Kjoll offered to take the blame. They’d had another friend called Hadvar, but Kjoll had heard that he’d joined the Legion and didn’t want to bring him up now.

“Ralof,” she said as he stared back at her. He grinned as he recognized her as well. “I haven’t seen you in years, my friend.”

“As you can see,” he gestured down to his armor, “I’ve joined the rebellion against the Empire.”

Kjoll nodded as she took in the uniform again, a chainmail cuirass with a blue tunic and armored fur boots. All light armor, as she remembered he preferred during their sparring lessons. The third man piped up then, cursing the Stormcloaks.

"Skyrim was fine until you came along,” he complained, glaring at Ralof. “Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there —” he jutted his chin toward Kjoll. “You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief,” Ralof muttered, looking a tad shamed. The Imperial soldier manning the reins shouted at them to shut their mouths.

The thief was eyeing the gagged man with suspicion. "And what's wrong with him, huh?"

"Watch your tongue,” Ralof snapped, all traces of guilt gone. “You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

The thief’s eyes widened while Kjoll furrowed her brows. If they’d captured Ulfric and were taking them all to the same place, then her odds of surviving this trip were slim to none. She looked down at her hands, tightly bound and losing circulation, as the realization swept over her. Kjoll would die next to a horse thief all because her game had wandered into an ambush.

"Ulfric?” the thief yelped and the gagged man glared at him. “The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits,” Ralof said, looking up into the sky as though he could see the Hall of Valor hidden within the clouds.

Kjoll watched as tears welled in the horse thief’s eyes and wondered who he was leaving behind. Perhaps a lover, or children. Perhaps unwell parents who would surely die without him. Kjoll then closed her eyes and thought of her own family, waiting for her next letter which would never come. Would the Legionaries even return her remains to Riverwood? Would Sven sing of her injustice while their mother wept? She was brought back to the conversation when the horse thief snapped at Ralof.

"Why do you care?" he questioned and Kjoll was left wondering what she’d missed.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home, and the ones dying next to him should know his name,” Ralof told him gently.

The man paled as he answered. "Rorikstead. I'm... I'm Lokir, from Rorikstead."

“Well, Lokir from Rorikstead, I’m Ralof from Riverwood.”

Lokir looked expectantly to Kjoll.

“I’m from Riverwood, too,” she said. “My name is Kjoll.”

“Are you a Stormcloak too?” he demanded, his eyes still tinged in red and accusation.

Kjoll shook her head lightly and gestured to her left eye, milky white and surrounded by old scars and fresh bruises. “No one wants a half-blind soldier.”

Before anyone could reply, an Imperial soldier spoke up, and the prisoners looked around themselves.

"General Tullius, sir!” the soldier shouted. “The headsman is waiting!"

Tullius was pacing near the chopping block, watching the carts pull into the city. "Good,” he muttered sounding tired. Kjoll could only just hear him as the cart trundled past the gates. “Let's get this over with."

“This is Helgen,” Ralof realized. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in.” He sighed longingly and looked up at the walls of Helgen. “Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

Kjoll agreed. Even though she wasn’t a Stormcloak, the Legion’s soldiers always found her suspicious. Mostly because she was a Nord always dressed in her steel armor with a battle axe strapped to her back and looking ready to kill. She understood their apprehension towards her, but it never stopped making her uncomfortable to walk into an Imperial held city. As it were, the Imperials didn’t have much to worry about; Kjoll would never join the rebellion, even if her bad eye wouldn’t keep her from the army.

If Ulfric Stormcloak wasn’t a racist egomaniac who fought, not for the right of free worship and racial equality, but for himself to be named High King of Skyrim and the allowance of Nords alone in the province; maybe then, Kjoll would have considered fighting under his name. Until then, she would be content to die without his name attached to her memory.

Lokir began to beg the gods quietly as they rolled farther into the city. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me."

Ralof scoffed. "Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him, too.” He spat. “Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.”

As they passed a small house, Kjoll heard a boy speak.

"Who are they, daddy?” he questioned, his light voice reaching them from his porch steps. “Where are they going?"

"You need to go inside, little cub,” his father said.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

She missed the rest as the Imperial stopped the cart alongside another filled with four more prisoners. “Whoa!” he muttered as he pulled on the reins.

An Imperial Captain stepped forward. "Get these prisoners out of the carts,” she shouted. “Move it!"

Lokir began to panic. "Why are we stopping?"

Ralof shook his head as he pulled himself to his feet. "Why do you think? End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" Lokir started shaking his head and dragging his feet. Kjoll was embarrassed to be standing so near to such a spineless Nord.

"Face your death with some courage, thief,” Ralof ordered, stepping behind him.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

Ralof shook his head. “Nothing I say would make a difference.”

The captain gestured for the prisoners to hop down from their carts. "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time."

"Empire loves their damn lists,” Ralof murmured.

As she came to the end of the cart, Kjoll saw the soldier with his list. Ralof glanced up at her with a solemn look as they watched their friend send them to their deaths.

"Ulfric Stormcloak,” Hadvar called. “Jarl of Windhelm."

Ralof watched his leader pass and straightened himself. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" Ulfric glanced to him and have a nod, unable to speak through the gag.

Hadvar spoke again, without hesitation. “Ralof of Riverwood.”

“It was nice seeing you again, old friend,” Ralof snarked as he passed.

He continued as though he hadn’t heard. “Lokir of Rorikstead.”

“No, I'm not a rebel,” Lokir shouted. “You can't do this!” The thief paced.

The captain held her hand up. "Halt!"

Lokir began to run, his hands still bound before him. "You're not going to kill me!"

"Archers!"

Kjoll looked up to the archers atop the wall. An Imperial knocked an arrow and drew back the string. Kjoll shouted a warning as the archer took aim and let it fly. Lokir shrieked as the arrow pierced his flesh, planting itself deep into his back. The horse thief fell to the ground, dead.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the captain taunted as the prisoners stared at his unmoving body.

Hadvar turned back to his scroll and furrowed his brows before looking up at Kjoll. "Wait," he said. “Step forward.”

Kjoll took a step closer and looked Hadvar in the eye. The Imperial captain came forward as well.

“What’s the hold up?”

“She’s not on the list, Captain,” he informed her. She glanced over his shoulder and shrugged.

“Forget the list. She goes to the block.” Kjoll could hear the threat in her voice and knew Hadvar wouldn’t argue.

“By your orders, Captain,” he said, averting his eyes. He glanced back to Kjoll. “I’m sorry, Kjoll. I’ll make sure your remains are sent to your family.”

Kjoll glowered at him and followed the path Ulfric and Ralof had taken toward the executioner’s block.

“Damn faithless Imperials,” Ralof said loud enough for Hadvar to hear as he passed. Hadvar had the decency to look ashamed as he took his place behind his commanding officer. General Tullius stood before Ulfric, each of them staring at the other with disdain.

“Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero,” he said. “But a hero does not use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne.”

Ulfric looked murderous as he grunted through the gag.

Tullius spoke over him. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down; restore the peace.” When Tullius stopped for a breath, a roar sounded over the city. Kjoll exchanged glances with Ralof as they searched for the source of the noise.

“What was that?” Hadvar wondered aloud.

Tullius waved a hand. “It’s nothing. Carry on.”

“Yes, General Tullius,” the captain said before gesturing to the Priestess of Arkay. “Give them their last rites.”

Kjoll watched the slight priestess move forward and raise her hands to the sky.

“As we commend your souls to Aetherius,” she began, her eyes fixed on the clouds. “Blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved —”

“Oh, for the love of Talos,” a Stormcloak soldier interrupted, marching forward angrily. “Shut up and get this over with.”

The priestess looked highly affronted with this outburst, but stepped back regardless. “As you wish.”

“Come on, I haven't got all morning.” He shifted his burning glare to General Tullius and his soldiers. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

An Imperial guard stepped behind the Stormcloak and pushed his foot into the rebel’s back, knocking him to his knees. The guard kicked him down farther so he was bent over the stone block. As everyone watched, the headsman raised his axe and brought it down on the soldier’s neck with a _schlik!_ Kjoll frowned as his blood poured over the block and his head dropped to the ground with a quiet thud.

“Imperial bastards!” another Stormcloak shouted in fury. Her voice shook with barely suppressed rage. Kjoll assumed she and the now dead soldier were close.

“As fearless in death as he was in life,” Ralof commented as the same guard from before shoved the body from the stone with his boot.

“Next prisoner! The Nord in rags,” she called and Kjoll was shoved from behind.

Kjoll looked over to Ralof. “We’ll meet again in Sovngarde,” she promised as she walked to the block, her head held high. Ralof returned the sentiment as she knelt over the stone, his comrade’s blood soaking into her hair and tunic.

Her heart was pounding as she looked up at the executioner, his axe still slick with gore. She watched as he raised the weapon high above his head and prepared for death, praying for Talos to guide her soul to Sovngarde. As she closed her eyes, another roar came from the sky, shaking the ground beneath her knees. Kjoll opened her eyes and turned them toward the heavens where they widened in shock.

Up in the sky, it’s wings unfurled and scales as black as night, a dragon flew. The great beast landed heavily on the tower behind the headsman, dropping boulders and rubble down on his head. Kjoll gasped as the axe imbedded itself into the dirt mere millimeters her nose. Before she could be too grateful for Talos’s guiding hand, the dragon let forth a burst of power that sent her sprawling. Underneath the thunder, Kjoll swore she heard words come from the dragon’s maw.

“What in Oblivion is that?” Tullius shouted, stumbling back.

“Dragon!” another Stormcloak soldier screamed, retreating a few steps.

The beast in question let loose another roar, causing more rubble to fall into the crowds. Everything erupted in chaos. Imperials scattered, pulling bows and swords from their backs and scabbards, battle mages were readying spells and curses. The prisoners scattered and Kjoll felt hands grabbing her shoulders. She whirled around and saw Ralof had freed himself and was hauling her to her feet.

“Kjoll!” he shouted. “Get up! Come on, the gods won’t give us another chance!”

Kjoll used his hands to pull herself up and ran after him as he raced into a nearby tower. A few other Stormcloaks, as well as Ulfric, were already inside. Ralof slammed the door closed behind them and rushed to the Jarl of Windhelm.

“Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don't burn down villages,” he replied solemnly.

Outside, they could hear the dragon’s rampage continue. They heard the screams of its victims being burned alive and crushed under falling debris.

Ulfric sighed. “We need to move. Now!”

Kjoll looked to the trio of Stormcloaks on the ground. Two of them were injured while the third seemed to be tending to the wounds. Kjoll wondered briefly if he was a battle medic. "They're hurt,” he said, sensing her gaze. “But they'll live. Another second out there with that dragon, and they'd both be dead...."

Ralof gestured for Kjoll and his comrade to follow him. "Let's go! With me, up the tower!"

The soldier nodded. "We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!"

As he began pulling rocks out of the way and passing them down to Ralof and Kjoll, another roar sounded just outside. As everyone turned to the wall next to them, it was bashed in. The dragon had smashed through, crushing the soldier in the process. It opened its mouth, showing them razor sharp teeth as long as their arms as fire poured from its gullet. Ralof stumbled into Kjoll as the heat blasted him, sending them both tumbling down the last few steps.

They stood back on their feet, Kjoll with some difficulty as her hands were still bound, and hurried back up the steps. The dragon had left the hole it had made and was back to flying over the city. Across the way was what looked to be an inn, it’s wooden roof charred and still burning in some places. There was a hole big enough for them to jump through if they aimed correctly and Ralof pointed to it.

“See the inn on the other side?” Kjoll nodded. “Jump through the roof and keep going! Go! We'll follow when we can!”

Again, she nodded, not wanting to waste time. Kjoll backed up a few steps and ran, launching herself through the air and tucking her body into a ball before she hit the floor. Kjoll rolled onto her feet and looked back up to the tower. Ralof was nowhere in sight. She wanted to wait for him, but the building was burning. Up ahead she saw another hole in the floor and she could see through it to the door leading out. Figuring Ralof and the others could manage without her, Kjoll dropped through the hole and and hurried through the open doorway.

A few yards away was an Imperial soldier crouched next to a young boy. Kjoll was certain it was the same boy that had wanted to watch the soldiers while she and the others were being brought in. As she watched up ahead, thankfully out of the boy’s view, Hadvar was trying to guide his father to safety. They were nearly there when the dragon flew overhead, it’s talons dragging across rooftops and sending rocks and debris onto the ground. The father attempted to dodge a particularly large boulder, but couldn’t make it. The heavy rock hit his back with an audible crack and pushed him into the dirt.

Hadvar heard the man’s strangled moan, but knew there was nothing he could do. He continued on, leaving the man’s body behind.

“Where’s my Papa?” the boy cried. “You said you’d get him!”

“I’m sorry, Haming,” Hadvar said, his voice sincere. “There was nothing to be done.”

“No!”

The second soldier grabbed Haming around the middle to keep him from running after his father. Hadvar turned and saw Kjoll watching from the inn. He motioned her forward and spoke to his comrade.

“Take care of him, Gunnar. I’m going to find General Tullius and join their defense.”

“Gods guide you, Hadvar,” Gunnar said as he lifted the distraught child off his feet to run him out of harm's way.

“Stay close to the wall,” Hadvar shouted after him.

Kjoll came to crouch next to her old friend. He turned to her, his expression regretful.

“I’m sorry, Kjoll,” he said. “I —”

He was cut off by the dragon’s roar as it circled over them yet again. Hadvar grabbed her wrists and pulled her along behind him as he hurried across the way, letting go after a few steps. She kept up with him as he ran through the city, past charred corpses and through burning buildings. At one point, while they were tucked against a low wall, the dragon stood over them. It’s clawed wing braced directly between them. Kjoll could have reached out and touched it, although she didn’t dare. Once it flew away again, she continued following Hadvar towards Helgen Keep.

As the Keep came into view, Kjoll saw a battlemage throwing fireballs into the sky as a being made of fire did the same. She instinctively backed away from the magic user, wary of stray spells. When Hadvar turned to check she was still there, his eyes locked onto someone behind her. Kjoll spun around to see Ralof running up, sword drawn.

“Ralof! You damned traitor,” Hadvar yelled. “Out of my way!”

“We're escaping, Hadvar,” Ralof replied, sounding much calmer. “You're not stopping us this time.”

Hadvar huffed. “Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde.”

Ralof turned toward the wooden door closest to him and glanced over his shoulder. “Kjoll! Come on, into the Keep!”

With one last look to Hadvar, someone she had once called friend, she followed Ralof into Helgen Keep.


	2. Getting Out

Inside Helgen Keep, the cool air that enveloped them was a welcome reprieve from the dragon’s breath outside. In the small room was a Stormcloak soldier, who seemed to have succumbed to his injuries, leaned against one wall. While Ralof hurried over to the fallen man and knelt down to touch his comrade’s shoulder lightly, Kjoll inspected the gates on the other two walls — both were locked tight.

She heard Ralof sigh and watched him hang his head. “We’ll meet again in Sovngarde, brother,” he said quietly. After a silent moment, he turned back to Kjoll and pulled an iron dagger from his belt.

“Here, let’s cut those bonds before your hands fall off,” he said taking her hands. He cut the straps in one smooth motion and Kjoll rubbed her raw wrists as the binds fell away. “You should take Gunjar’s gear; he won’t be needing it anymore.”

Kjoll nodded and began stripping the armor from the dead man while Ralof inspected the gates for himself. She pulled the cuirass over her head buckled the sides closed before tugging the fur boots over her feet. They were half a size too small but she figured they would have to do until she could get some different ones. She silently cursed the Imperials for taking her own armor and doing gods know what with it.

“I don’t know how you wear this stuff,” she complained as she pounded her fist on the cuirass. It felt no heavier than a fur wrapping and was uncomfortably tight on her chest. “It’s like paper.”

Ralof chuckled. “It’s easier to move in; easier to fight.”

“You won’t fight for long in it. If someone pokes you too hard, you’re a goner.”

“Tell you what,” Ralof said, rolling his eyes. “You find something better and I’ll strip it off the body myself.”

“Sounds good,” Kjoll laughed and then gave the war axe a swing. “Also, if you happen to see a decent two-hander, let me know.”

Before Ralof could come up with another quip, they heard voices coming from the gate on the left. The two Nords braced themselves on either side of the gate and waited for the Imperials to open it. A chain was pulled and the gate began to rise. As soon as the guards stepped through, Kjoll and Ralof each grabbed the one closest to them and began to fight.

Kjoll swung her borrowed axe which came up short, merely glancing off the Imperial captain’s chest piece. Kjoll cursed and dodged the captain’s next swing of her sword, and brought her blade back around. This time, it struck true and sliced through the captain’s throat. She fell to her knees with a gurgling cry as blood poured down her chest. Ralof had finished with the other officer and was busy going through his pockets. Kjoll did the same on the dead captain and came up with a handful of coin and a key.

Ralof looked up when she cleared her throat and grinned when she held out the key. She tossed it to him and then coughed again, looking down at the captain’s armor pointedly. He shook his head.

“You’re serious?”

Kjoll shrugged. “You offered, friend.”

She chuckled while Ralof began tugging on the buckles and straps. After a few minutes, Ralof had taken the armor from the dead captain and she had used her discarded tunic to clean the blood from the breastplate. Finally, she had some armor that felt like it could protect her a bit — not to mention it gave her breasts a bit of room. She even swapped Gunjar’s iron war axe for the captain’s steel sword.

The next roomers empty save for a few tables, cupboards, and storage barrels. Ralof suggested she gather up anything useful while he kept an eye on the doors. Kjoll rooted around and managed to find a few potions and alchemical ingredients — all of which she slipped into her pack — as well as a sack full of fruit. She nabbed a couple of apples and stuffed them into her pack too; if they ever made it out of this gods forsaken city, they were bound to be hungry.

Finally ready to keep going, Kjoll rejoined Ralof and followed him deeper into the Keep.

They followed the path down, moving quietly through the dark. At the bottom of the first tunnel was a short corridor with wooden doors at either end. Near the opposite end of the tunnel, Kjoll could see another pair of Stormcloak soldiers. Just as Ralof saw them too, they heard dragon roar over the city once again. The Keep quaked, the walls shaking around them, and then the ceiling fell in between Kjoll and the group on the other end. Ralof let out a put upon sigh and gestured to the door.

“Looks like that’s our only choice.”

Kjoll agreed and slowly pushed the door open, ready for anything. As she peeked inside, Kjoll heard more than saw a battle happening. She drew her sword and charged in.

She was right about the battle. There were two Stormcloaks and two Imperials. One Stormcloak was on the ground and the other was barely standing. Her eyes widened when she saw Kjoll, dressed head to toe in Imperial armor, running in but seemed to relax a touch when she attacked the larger of the Imperials instead of her. She gained more confidence when Ralof charged in behind Kjoll, attacking the smaller Imperial from behind.

Together, the three of them were able to take out the pair of Imperials. A quick look around the room made it clear that they’d killed a torturer and his assistant.

“Was Jarl Ulfric with you?” Ralof asked the soldier, desperate for news.

The woman shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen him since the dragon showed up.”

Ralof cursed then nodded. “Well, we’ll look around here for anything useful and keep going, then. And pray that Talos was watching over him.” Kjoll and the soldier nodded as they went searching around the rooms.

In a knapsack left on a small table, she found a few lockpicks and a handful of gold. Next to the bag was a copy of The Book of the Dragonborn, which Kjoll slipped into her pack as well before moving on to inspect the armory.

She’d only found a pair of lockpicks and a few dull swords when Ralof called her attention to a locked cage. He jiggled the door, and cursed under his breath.

“Locked,” he grumbled. “Kjoll, why don’t you try to get this open; looks like a dead mage. He may have something useful on him” He passed her a handful of picks as she moved to inspect the lock.

When she finished with the lock and yanked the rusted door open, Kjoll found a dead mage indeed. Next to the man was a scattering of gold and what looked to be a spell book. She wasn’t too familiar with magic so Kjoll figured she could sell it to Lucan. If she made it home, at least. So thinking, Kjoll even stripped the enchanted robes and hood from the mage and scooped his gold into her purse before returning to Ralof and the other soldier.

“What’s your name, friend?” she asked as they started down the next tunnel.

“Filnja,” she said, shaking Kjoll’s hand roughly. “Some call me Stonearm.”

Up ahead, Ralof made a noise of agreement. “I went hand to hand with Stonearm here,” he said. “She can throw a punch with the best of them, that’s for sure.”

Stonearm chuckled and the three continued down the corridor in silence.

After a few quiet minutes, they were met with a turn in the path. Around the corner, the sounds of shuffling armor made themselves heard. Ralof motioned for them to stay quiet as he peeked around. He stood there for a few moments before turning back to the pair.

“There are half a dozen Imperials in there,” he told them quietly. “But I did see another group of ours on the other side and managed to signal to them to wait for our lead. Kjoll, you go in first since you’re dressed as a captain. Put on your helmet and gather their attention. Once they’re distracted, the others will attack from behind and then Stonearm and I will join in. Good?”

Both Kjoll and Stonearm nodded. Kjoll jammed the steel-plumed helmet back onto her head and stood at her full height to stroll into the enemy filled cavern.

At the sight of her, the closest Imperial soldiers seemed ready to strike, but Kjoll calmly waved them down. Her heart pounded as she cleared her throat.

“Captain,” a soldier from the back began, sounding relieved. “Do you have news? Is the dragon still attacking?”

Kjoll waved a hand again. “Quiet,” she said, her voice steady. “General Tullius sent me ahead. We are to wait here until he arrives with the rest.”

At her announcement, the Imperials began to relax, some even sheathing their weapons. Movement from the rear of the cavern caught her attention and Kjoll watched three Stormcloaks sneak forward and take down just as many Imperials. When the rest heard their comrades’ bodies drop, they whirled around and fumbled for their swords. At the commotion, four more Stormcloaks charged in from the back.

Kjoll drew her sword as she eyed the Imperial closest to her. He pulled a greatsword from its scabbard across his back and was readying to join the fray. Kjoll stalked forward and swung her stolen steel sword, easily decapitating the man before he knew what hit him. As he dropped his weapon, Kjoll did the same and raced forward to snatch his from the ground. With a triumphant cry, she ran into battle with Ralof beside her.

Alongside the Stormcloaks, Kjoll was able to clear the cavern in a matter of minutes. As they all stood, adrenaline still racing through their veins, Ralof eyed her new weapon with a grin.

“Found your two-hander, I see,” he chuckled. Kjoll just smiled and wiped the gore from the blade with a strip of a dead man’s tunic.

As the soldiers chattered, Kjoll went searching for the body of the previous owner of her greatsword. After a few moments of kicking over bodies, she found the one with the long scabbard and knelt down to unbuckle the strap and fasten it around herself. Feeling a little more complete with a stronger weapon, Kjoll returned to the group and listened to their plan.

“Kjoll and I’ll go on ahead to search for an exit,” Ralof was saying. “The rest of you stay here and wait for Jarl Ulfric. If we don’t come back, assume we found an exit and have kept going to bring word to Windhelm. Ulfric will want the Palace prepared for his return and the walls fortified against an attack.”

The gathered soldiers approved of the plan and wished the pair luck, asking Talos to guide them to safety. Kjoll thanked them and followed Ralof a bit farther into the tunnel where there was a lever. He pulled the lever and the drawbridge fell, allowing them to continue deeper underground.

Once on the other side of the bridge, they heard the dragon roar high above them. Kjoll heard a word underneath the angry noise and urged her friend forward on a whim. A second later, and she was glad she had as the ceiling over the bridge collapsed, crushing the wooden planks and sealing the way back in the process.

“Well, I hope we won’t need to turn back,” Ralof muttered as he straightened himself up. Kjoll stepped closer to the rubble filled hole, looking into an archway that seemed to lead into another tunnel.

“Wait here, I’m going to see where that goes,” Kjoll announced as she began picking her way across the rubble.

The tunnel was short and lead to a small stream where it turned to the right. On the other side of the stream was a ledge with the skeleton of some poor sod who appeared to have died alone and in the dark. Kjoll took the bottle of mead next to the body and poured a drink for him before continuing around the bend. This tunnel was also short and came out into a longer and more open corridor that lead deeper. Off to her right, Kjoll could hear Ralof kicking around a stone where she’d left him.

“It just leads back into this corridor,” she announced. Ralof startled at the sudden noise and reached for the axe at his belt. He huffed in annoyance when he saw it was only Kjoll, who laughed at his reaction.

“All right, then,” he huffed. “Let’s keep going. Hopefully we aren’t trapped in here.”

Kjoll chuckled again as they fell into step together. They walked in companionable silence as they made their way down a slope. Kjoll stopped and put her arm out to keep Ralof from walking into a thick web of silk. She looked into the cavern ahead and pointed to a trio of frostbite spiders huddled around a web sack. Ralof quietly slid his bow around and nocked an arrow. Kjoll drew her greatsword, ready to fight.

Ralof loosed the arrow and watched it pierce one spider’s eye cluster. The huge bug hit the ground, dead, and it’s friends turned toward the source with their pincers snapping. The pair made quick work of the spiders and were soon on their way, picking through the tunnels. They went mostly unhindered through the remaining caverns, save for a lone bear sleeping amongst a pile of human bones.

Ralof offered Kjoll a bow and quiver of arrows to take the animal down from a distance. Kjoll readily took the bow and nocked an arrow. Her archery skills weren’t amazing, but she knew enough to kill a bear from thirty feet away in a windless cave. When she released the arrow, it flew across the room in less than a second and found its mark in the bear’s thick throat. The animal gurgled for a moment before lying still.

Seeing no other threats, the pair passed the bear and continued following the tunnel. As they neared a bend, Kjoll felt a cool breeze. She and Ralof exchanged an excited glance and hurried around the corner. Kjoll squinted when a ray of sunlight flashed in her good eye and her heart leapt. They’d found a way out!

Ralof rushed through the opening in the rocks with Kjoll right behind him. The fresh air engulfed them and Kjoll breathed in the chilly breeze, thankful to see the snow on the ground and the open sky above her. A loud roar suddenly brought Kjoll back to herself and she joined Ralof crouching behind a stone.

“There he goes,” he muttered as they watched the great black beast fly away from Helgen. It seemed to be heading north, for the time being. Once the dragon was out of sight, the pair got back to their feet and started pacing down the gentle slope.

“You know,” Ralof started after a few quiet minutes. “You should go with me to Windhelm and join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire in Helgen today. And, if anyone will know what the coming of the dragon means, it's Ulfric.”

Kjoll glanced over from the corner of her eye, wondering if she should speak her mind. Telling him her true opinion of Ulfric Stormcloak might ruin their friendship, which was the last thing she wanted at that moment.

“I’ll have to think about it,” she replied, deciding on feigning neutrality. “I do have my eye to think about; neither side may want me.” She chuckled, trying to make light.

Ralof laughed as well. “There is that,” he agreed. “But I don’t think they would turn you away, especially after today.”

Kjoll shrugged as if to say, “you never know” and hoped he would drop it.

“If you do decide to join up,” he went on. “Head to Windhelm and talk to Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric’s right hand man. I’ll pass on a good word if I make it there sooner.”

Kjoll nodded and looked around for something else to talk about. On the mountain across the river, she could see the stone arches of Bleak Falls Barrow.

“There’s the Barrow,” she said, gesturing to the mountain. “Do you remember Hadvar being so afraid of the draugr in there?”

Ralof chuckled at the memory. “Aye. We didn’t do much to quell that fear, either.”

Kjoll laughed. They, along with Ralof’s sister Gerbur, had hidden outside his window at night to moan and scrape the glass until he shook with terror. Looking back, though, Kjoll knew it had been wrong to torture her friend that way. It had been cruel and she now wished she’d brought up a different topic. Luckily, Ralof found one of his own and he gestured her to the left.

“Three of the thirteen Standing Stones,” he said. Kjoll had seen a few of the Stones during her travels, but she’d never chosen one. Now, looking at the ones before her, she decided she could use all the help she could get. “Go ahead.”

Curious, Kjoll inspected the Stones and their depictions.

The first on the left showed the image of a crouched thief, a dagger in his palm. Kjoll had never been one to sneak about and turned away to consider the Mage. Both she and her brother had been raised to distrust magic and its wielders. Herself, she’d only ever used a weak healing spell when there were no other options, but those instances had been few and far between. So thinking, Kjoll skipped the center Stone and turned her gaze onto the last. The carving showed a mighty warrior wielding a sword and shield. Standing before the Warrior Stone brought a feeling of comradery to Kjoll, and she found herself reaching a hand to touch the etchings.

As her skin brushed the cold rock, a jolt of power transferred from the Stone and into her body. She gasped at the force and looked up to see a pillar of white light disappearing into the sky. After a moment, the light faded and Kjoll turned back to a grinning Ralof.

“I chose the Warrior as well. It’s a noble choice,” he said, motioning for her to follow him on the road. “Not much farther now,” he added as they continued down the cobblestone path. Kjoll suddenly remembered the apples in her pack and dug them out. She passed one to Ralof who smiled his thanks. Together, they munched until Riverwood’s archway became visible.


	3. Whiterun

“Dragon!” Kjoll heard a familiar voice shout. “I saw a dragon!”

“What?” the town bard questioned as he strode up the steps. “What is it now, mother?”

Kjoll watched her mother point a shaking finger toward the sky. “It was as big as the mountain and black as night. It flew right over the Barrow!"

Sven sighed. “Dragons, now, is it? Please, mother. If you keep on like this everyone in town will think you're crazy. And I've got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies."

Hearing his comment made Kjoll worry for her mother’s sanity. Hilde was right about the dragon, as Sven would see once she told him, but apparently her mind was fading already. Kjoll was ashamed of herself; she’d been away for months this time with only a couple of letters and pouches of coin sent home. She would need to stay closer for a while. Well, as close as she could without attracting the attention of the Legion.

Hilde was still shouting and looking fearfully up at the sky. “You'll see!” she yelled, causing passersby to shake their heads. “It was a dragon! It'll kill us all and then you'll believe me!”

“I believe you, Mother,” Kjoll said loudly as she and Ralof stepped under the archway. “I saw it too.”

Hilde spun toward the her daughter’s voice and cried out. “Oh!” she gasped. “My girl!”

Kjoll told Ralof she would meet him and Gerdur in a moment and he continued on his way while she had a moment with her family.

Kjoll hurried up the steps to wrap her mother in as much of a hug as she could muster through her armor. As Sven approached, she spared an arm for him as well, laughing as he bumped against her breastplate.

“Where have you been?” Hilde demanded, annoyed as she pulled back to inspect her daughter for injury. “What happened to you?”

Kjoll took her mother’s hands. “I’ll explain everything,” she promised earnestly. “I have to speak with Gerdur and Ralof first, and then I’ll tell you what’s been happening over the past few days.”

Neither Sven nor Hilde was happy about having to wait, but Kjoll insisted and hurried over to where Ralof was talking with Gerdur and Hod near the river. Frodnar, Gerdur’s son, rushed past her saying something keeping an eye out for Imperial soldiers.

Kjoll returned after a few minutes. Ralof had explained what had happened at Helgen to Gerdur and Hod, who showed concern for their safety. Ralof had waved them off, saying that he knew how to lay low for a while.

Gerdur wondered if Ulfric had survived, to which Ralof had replied, “Don't worry. I'm sure he made it out. It'll take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak!”

Kjoll had been pleased to see that she wasn’t the only one skeptical as Gerdur furrowed her brow. Last Kjoll had seen, Ulfric was trapped in a burning tower in the middle of a burning town. She had no such confidence.

Once the town leaders were satisfied with their answers, Gerdur had offered her home and supplies to both Kjoll and Ralof. Before Hod had a chance to whisk them away for a drink, however, Kjoll had asked if there was she could do in return for their hospitality.

“Well…” Gerdur had said, looking hopeful. “There is something you can do for me. For all of us here.”

“What is it?” Kjoll wondered, curious.

“We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf to send whatever troops he can spare; Riverwood is defenseless against a dragon. If you do that for me, I'll be in your debt.”

“Of course,” Kjoll said, clasping Gerdur’s hand. “I’ll leave in the morning. And there will be no debt to repay.”

“Thank you, so much.” Gerdur squeezed Kjoll’s hands once before releasing her.

Back in her childhood home, Kjoll was bombarded with questions. “What happened?” “Where were you?” “What happened to your face?” “Have you joined the Stormcloaks?” “The Empire?”

“Slow down!” she demanded, holding her hands out. “One at a time.”

“What happened, then?” Hilde questioned, studying the swollen bruise around Kjoll’s blind eye. “Start from the beginning.”

“I was caught in the middle of an Imperial ambush against the Stormcloaks,” she said and relayed the tale of her hunt through the Rift and the battle she’d heard; the force that had knocked her back and of waking on the wagon headed to Helgen, to her execution.

“They were going to kill you?” Sven asked angrily. “Just for being there?”

Kjoll shrugged. “It may sound crazy, but that dragon showing up when it did saved my life,” she said. “I was on the block when it came down.” Kjoll suppressed a shudder when she remembered how close the headsman’s axe came to her face when he fell.

Hilde gasped and looked close to tears at being so close to losing her daughter.

“I can only stay one night,” Kjoll concluded. “The Imperials could come looking here for Ralof and me at any time. Besides, I have to go warn the Jarl of the dragon and get him to send more soldiers to protect Riverwood.”

“But, where else will you stay?” Sven asked. “Are you just going to go from inn to inn?”

Kjoll snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

“Hey, I earn gold at the inn!” he shot back, offended.

“Gold that you piss away!”

“Please!” Hilde shouted over them angrily. “Can you two stop arguing for one night?”

Kjoll apologized while Sven grunted and looked away.

“Kjoll, of course you’ll stay here tonight,” Hilde said, calm again. “But I expect you to say goodbye before you leave in the morning.”

“Of course, Ma,” Kjoll replied as she began tugging at the straps of her chest piece. With it off, she stood to give her mother a proper hug.

“Whew!” Hilde muttered, fanning the air in front of her face. “Take a bath before you get in a bed.”

Laughing, Kjoll sniffed her tunic and agreed that she was indeed filthy. “Yes, Mother,” she said as she went to fill the tub with water from a heated pot.

After her bath, Kjoll was feeling immensely relaxed and fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

  
Before leaving Riverwood, Kjoll stopped in at Lucan’s shop to sell off some of the things she’d picked up on her trip under Helgen. When she stepped in, she heard Lucan arguing with his sister over whether or not to hunt down a group of thieves. They stopped mid-sentence when they noticed her standing in the doorway.

“Oh,” Lucan said. “Kjoll, I didn’t see you there.”

“You were saying something about thieves?” she asked as she stepped up to the counter, leaning down on her elbows and looking between him and Camilla. “Did something happen?”

“Well, we did have a break-in a few days ago. Robbers were only after one thing,” he added darkly. “An ornament, solid gold. In the shape of a dragon's claw.”

Kjoll thought for a moment. “I could help you get the claw back,” she said. “I’ll be doing some traveling soon. Do you know where they might be headed?”

“You could?” he asked, delighted. “I think I heard something about them going up to Bleak Falls Barrow.”

With a nod, Kjoll got on with her business, selling the junk she’d gathered that was slowing her down. She wound up buying a new map and an empty journal as well. The first thing she wrote was about the missing claw.

Finished with her task, Kjoll went to hug her mother and brother goodbye. She wasn’t sure when she might see them again, but promised to send letters as often as she could. Hilde put together a pack of provisions for Kjoll, while she redressed in the Imperial armor, and walked her to the bridge.

  
The trip to Whiterun was wasn’t a long one and she’d made it to the city’s gates within a couple of hours. At the gate, she was stopped by the guards on duty who demanded to know her business in Whiterun.

“I’ve been sent by Gerdur in Riverwood,” she told them. “With this dragon flying around, they’ll need more protection.”

The guard grunted. “Fine. Go ahead in, but we’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he added threateningly. Kjoll merely nodded and slipped through the gates. It had been years since her last visit to Whiterun, but she didn’t remember the guards being so rude. Without another word, she stepped through the gates.

Despite the attitude laden guards, Whiterun still looked the same. The wooden homes and shops were no different than the last times she’d seen them. The blacksmith — an Imperial woman named Adrianne, who had taught Kjoll the basics of smithing when she was younger — was arguing with someone in Legionnaire armor. From the sound of their conversation, Kjoll gathered that he was asking her to fill an order of immense size.

“You Battle-Borns,” Adrianne scoffed. “If you could put your stubborn ego aside and ask Eorlund Grey-Mane to help, we could fill this order in no time.”

The Battle-Born huffed indignantly. “I would sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak than to ask a Grey-Mane for help.” He put his hands on his hips. “Can you make the swords or not?”

“Fine,” the blacksmith sighed. “I’ll take the job, but don’t expect a miracle.”

Kjoll quietly passed them by as she made her way through the market and into the center of the city. She frowned up at the Gildergreen tree as she walked under; last she saw, it was healthy and full of leaves. She wondered what could kill a tree such as this one.

Heimskr ruined the serene moment with his shouting as she passed him. Kjoll worshipped Talos as much as the next Nord, but the little man took it out of proportion. She wondered idly if he would lose his voice soon.

At the top of the stairs, Kjoll crossed the little bridge as the guards watched her. Feeling a touch of nerves, she pulled open one of the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the palace.

As she walked around the fire pit before the Jarl’s throne, the Jarl’s housecarl — a Dunmer woman named Irileth — advanced on Kjoll with her sword drawn. Kjoll had to clench her fists to keep from reaching for the hilt of the greatsword over her shoulder.

“What’s your business here?” she demanded. “The Jarl isn’t taking visitors.”

When Kjoll repeated what she’d said to gate guard, the Dunmer narrowed her eyes. She looked Kjoll up and down before nodding once.

“That explains why they let you in,” she said, sheathing her sword. “As Jarl Balgruuf’s housecarl, I can never be too sure. You may approach.”

Kjoll nodded and relaxed her rigid posture as she followed Irileth forward. The Jarl was arguing with an Imperial man — Adrianne’s father, if she wasn't mistaken — when Kjoll stepped up.

“My lord. Please,” the steward begged. “You have to listen. I only counsel caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these. If the news from Helgen is true... well, there's no telling what it means.”

Jarl Balgruuf threw his hands in the air. “What would you have me do, then? Nothing?”

“My lord. Please,” he repeated, his voice taut with frustration. “This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more information before we act. I just—”

He stopped when Irileth leaned down to whisper into the Jarl’s ear and gestured to Kjoll standing at the steps to the Jarl’s throne. Balgruuf looked down at her as well, his brow puckered.

“Who's this, then?” the Jarl asked, addressing Kjoll herself. “What’s this about Riverwood being in danger?”

“My name is Kjoll.” She cleared her throat nervously as the three stared down at her. “A dragon destroyed Helgen,” she continued, “and Gerdur is afraid Riverwood is next.”

“Gerdur? Owns the lumber mill, if I'm not mistaken.” Kjoll nodded. “Pillar of the community. Not prone to flights of fancy…”

Jarl Balgruuf turned back to his steward, annoyance clear on his face. “What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?”

“My lord,” Irileth interrupted urgently. “We should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains….”

Proventus shook his head aggressively. “The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him.”

Before Irileth could argue, Balgruuf raised his hands. “Enough!” he shouted. “Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”

“Yes, my Jarl.” Irileth nodded and shot a smug look over his head to Proventus as she dashed from the Great Hall.

“We should not—”

Balgruuf angrily cut him off. “I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!”

“If you'll excuse me,” Proventus huffed. “I'll return to my duties.”

“That would be best,” the Jarl muttered as he watched his steward skulk away.

Kjoll stood awkwardly by, wondering if she should leave as Balgruuf pinched the bridge of his nose. She’d just lifted a foot when he spoke again.

“Well done,” he said, meeting her one blue eye. “You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Come with me, I’ve got something I’m sure you can use.”

Jarl Balgruuf stood and gestured for Kjoll to accompany him up a set of wooden stairs off to the right. At the top, there was open foyer which housed a man in Imperial Legate armor. The Imperial was bent over a table, staring intently at a map of Skyrim which was dotted with small red and blue flags. He barely looked up when Balgruuf began digging around in a wooden chest beneath the table. After a moment, he came up with a set of steel armor.

“Take this,” he insisted, pushing the heavy armor into Kjoll’s arms. “As a small token of my esteem.”

Kjoll gasped. The metal was brand new and it shone in the candlelight that flickered in the room.

“Thank you, my Jarl,” she said weakly, I sure of what else she should say.

“There is another thing you could do for me, if you would. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.” He gestured for her to follow him back down the staircase. “Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons.”

Kjoll followed the Jarl into the Court Wizard’s quarters. Being so near a mage made her skin crawl. She could feel the magic humming in the air, just waiting to sear her flesh and turn her mind to mush. She was not looking forward to helping such a person, but if it was an order from the Jarl, who was she to deny?

“Farengar,” the Jarl called to the little man bent over an enchanting table. It’s glowing sigils and glaring skulls made Kjoll shudder. “I think I’ve found someone to help with your project.”

The wizard turned around and gave Kjoll a once over. His face was mostly hidden behind the hood drawn low over his brow. Kjoll refused to show how uncomfortable she was and met the man’s shadowed stare as well as she could.

“I’ll leave you to explain the details,” Balgruuf suggested. He gave Kjoll an amicable grin before heading back to his throne.

“So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?” Farengar asked looking her over again, seeming to think for a moment. “Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well,” he fluttered a hand “when I say ‘fetch’, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.”

Kjoll raised her brows. Could this little wizard be serious? He wanted her to travel deep inside an ancient ruin filled with unknown dangers and search for something that might not even be there? Whatever, she thought. If the Jarl wants me to help, I’ll help.

“All right,” she said with a shrug. “Where am I going and what am I fetching?”

“Straight to the point, eh? No need for tedious hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?” He looked down his nose at her and it was all she could do to suppress a scowl.

“So what do you need me to do?” she repeated, trying to get out of his quarters as quickly as possible.

“I began to search for information about dragons — where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?” He shook his head. “I ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow — a ‘Dragonstone’, said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet — no doubt interred in the main chamber — and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.”

Kjoll nodded, ready to be away from this mage who managed to insult her directly after she agreed to help him. “I know the way,” she said. “If your stone is in the Barrow, I’ll find it.”

“Be on your way then.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Kjoll rolled her eyes and left the palace.

Outside, Kjoll made her way down the many steps and into the market square. She looked around for a moment, thinking about what to do. It was too late to set out yet, but it was too early to want to sleep. She looked at the heavy armor in her hands and shrugged as she headed into the Bannered Mare.

Inside, Kjoll bought a room for the night. The innkeeper, Hulda, showed her up the single flight of stairs and into a simple room. Against one wall was a double bed with a nightstand on either side and, across from it, was a dresser and wardrobe. On the third wall was an open doorway that lead onto a small balcony overlooking the tavern below.

Kjoll stripped off her Imperial armor and underclothes in favor of the more comfortable clothes her mother had sent with her. The leather breeches and simple green tunic were long time favorites of Kjoll’s, along with the pair of old leather boots. Hilde knew her daughter well and Kjoll smiled to herself as she laced them up.

With her steel armor stored in her temporary wardrobe, Kjoll carried the old Imperial set out of the inn and down toward the main gates.

“Welcome to Warmaiden’s!” Ulfberth War-Bear called from behind the counter when Kjoll opened the door. The older man was standing with both of his massive hands splayed across the countertop.

Kjoll approached the familiar man and gave him a friendly smile. “Evening, Ulfberth,” she greeted. “I’ve just come into a new set of armor and am looking to sell this.” She plopped the chest piece on the counter with a metallic thunk.

Ulfberth chuckled. “I think we can come to an agreement.”

By the end of her transaction, Kjoll walked away with pouch full of gold as well as a new pair of steel boots and gauntlets. She’d thought about talking a new helm into the deal, but decided it would obstruct her already limited vision too much and went without it.

Altogether happy with her armor, Kjoll returned to the Mare to get some sleep before beginning the trek to Bleak Falls Barrow by sunrise.


	4. Bleak Falls Barrow

By the time the sun began turning the sky a dusty grey, Kjoll was already passing the bridge into Riverwood. Now, she debated on stopping in to see Hilde, but thought better of it. The visit would only delay her mission and make her mother anxious. So thinking, Kjoll adjusted her pack and started up the mountain.

Kjoll had barely made it thirty yards up when a low growling reached her ears. She slowed and pulled a steel dagger from her belt as she listened. A sudden snarling started up in the bushes ahead of her and she fixed her gaze on the rustling leaves. With a ferocious bark, a wild wolf leapt from its cover, hurling itself at its would-be prey. Kjoll cursed when the animal’s snapping teeth narrowly missed her face as she sidestepped the attack. As she came back around to face the beast, it clamped its jaws around her raised left arm. With a grunt, she sank her dagger to the hilt in the wolf’s neck. The animal yelped and she twisted the blade once for good measure. Jagged teeth scraped along her gauntlet as the wolf fell. Hoping this event wasn’t an omen, Kjoll toed the body off the path and continued on her way.

Her hike was mostly quiet after that and she enjoyed the subtle sounds of nature until they too became silent. It was then that she noticed she was walking into snowfall and realized she must be coming up on the abandoned tower. Up ahead, she could just see the head of a guard patrolling the upper walk and drew her greatsword. She’d heard that bandits loved to hide out at this place and Kjoll was always glad to exterminate.

“That’s close enough,” a voice growled threateningly.

Kjoll looked to the doorway of the tower and saw an orc man standing there, his fur covered armor hanging off his muscular form in tatters. He rested a heavy hand on the hilt of a sword on his hip.

“Is it now,” she quipped. Any bandit she came across was, in her mind, the one who’d murdered her father and she treated them as such. The orc chuckled and Kjoll adjusted her grip on her sword.

“You’ve got some stones to talk to me like that,” he said, taking a step toward her.

“What do you plan to do about it?”

The orc snarled as he drew his sword and advanced on her. He didn’t make it within five feet of her before she swung her weapon. The sharp blade sliced his head clean off his shoulders, and she watched the body smack the ground and the head roll away into the bushes. Before she could think of searching out more of his hive, a war cry rang out from the tower.

An old Nord came rushing from the dark doorway with a warhammer held over his head. Kjoll waited for him to get within swinging distance before dodging the attack. She killed him with a blow to the back where his weak armor had pulled apart, exposing a flash of his wrinkled skin, while he attempted to yank the hammer’s head out of the ground.

The final bandit was a small Bosmer woman wielding a hunting bow and quiver full of iron arrows. One arrow bounced off Kjoll’s pauldron with a metallic _tink_. She raised a brow at the woman and charged into the tower after her. The elf’s mossy eyes widened as Kjoll stormed up the wooden steps and she tried to ready another arrow, but Kjoll was too close. She knocked the bow away with her blade and brought the steel back down on the mer on the next swing. The raggedy thief fell to the floor in a spreading pool of blood.

Kjoll made a final sweep-through of the tower, taking any gold or valuables she found lying around, before finally continuing around the final bend, the ancient Nordic arches looming into view.

From a vantage point on a tall rock, Kjoll could see at least two more figures dressed in furs wandering along the top of the stone stairs with weapons dangling from their belts. Figuring she could surprise them with muscle, Kjoll drew her sword and rushed up the steps.

She defeated the two she’d seen from her perch rather quickly and was about to search for more when an arrow whizzed by her face. The metal tip grazed her cheek, leaving a long red gash under her eye from ear to mouth. She cursed and whirled around to face her attacker.

Another elf, this time a Dunmer, stood near the front entrance. He lined up another arrow and pulled back the string. Kjoll ducked behind a tall pillar and the arrow pinged off the stone. While the archer was busy drawing another arrow from his quiver, Kjoll ran toward another pillar closer to him. She hid behind this one just in time as she heard another arrow snap on impact.

This time, while the mer was loading up yet another arrow, Kjoll ran straight toward him. She slammed into him, effectively throwing the bow from his hands. She’d underestimated his weight and the collision sent them sprawling, Kjoll’s sword clattering to the ground several feet away. The archer leapt to his feet and fumbled with the mace hanging at his hip. Kjoll ran at him and reared back her fist. One punch from her steel clad fist knocked the mer out cold, but Kjoll didn’t stop there. She hit him again and again, her rage going unchecked as she beat the elf. She finally stopped when her hands were soaked in gore and the Dunmer lay unrecognizable.

Breathing hard, Kjoll struggled to stamp her rage down. More bandits were sure to be inside and she couldn’t be distracted, especially on a quest for the Jarl. The memories, however, washed over her anyways.

The image of her father’s mangled body, his eyes cold and empty, flashed across her mind. Anything of worth — which wasn’t much, perhaps a handful of coin — missing from his person. He’d been found on the other side of the White River, lying face-down in the mud. Crabs had gotten to him, nipped away pieces of his flesh.

The only thing that brought Kjoll any comfort was knowing that her father’s spirit was waiting for her in Sovngarde. He would be the first to greet her in the Hall of Valor. They would feast and fight and share their stories; father and daughter, together again.

Finally calm again, Kjoll pulled herself to her feet and entered the Barrow.

Inside, there was a wide chamber where only a pair of thieves paced around a fire. Before Kjoll could rush forward and begin their final battle, the woman spoke.

“So we're just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with that golden claw?” she complained.

 _Golden claw?_ Kjoll thought, surprised. _Oh, Lucan did say the thieves had mentioned the Barrow…._

The man sat down heavily on a broken log Kjoll assumed they’d dragged in from the surrounding forest. “That dark elf wants to go on ahead, let him. Better than us risking our necks.”

She continued to pace while her companion watched disinterestedly. “What if Arvel doesn't come back, Bjorn?” she demanded. “I want my share from that claw!”

He huffed and rolled his eyes with annoyance. “Just shut it, Sol, and keep an eye out for trouble.”

At this point, Kjoll is no less than four long strides away from the reclining man — Bjorn, if she’d heard correctly. She sidles up next to him and slings an arm over his shoulder, the elf’s blood smearing on the other Nord’s cheek.

“You wouldn’t be talking about a golden dragon claw would you?” she asked with an expectant grin. She was certain she appeared wild with her bruised and bloodied face and faux friendly grin.

Bjorn jerked away from her but she was too quick. Kjoll locked her arm around his throat and pressed her dagger against his skin. The woman, Soling, yanked her sword from its sheath.

“I only want to know if it was you skeever brains that stole from my friend,” she explained, her voice exceptionally light, given the circumstances.

“So what if it was?” Soling questioned. Bjorn grunted as the dagger’s edge bit into his flesh. A pearl of blood pooled and ran down his neck. Kjoll could feel him shaking and hid a satisfied grin.

“Soling, ple—” he choked as Kjoll applied more pressure.

Bjorn clawed at her metal covered arm as he struggled for breath. Soling lowered her sword to the ground, fury burning in her eyes.

“Yeah, it was us.” She furrowed her brow when Kjoll never loosened her hold.

“And now this Arvel fellow has it?”

Bjorn’s struggles grew weaker. Soling gave a jerky nod as she watched her friend’s face turn purple. “Yes! Arvel has the claw!” she shouted. “Please, you’re killing him!”

Kjoll thought for a moment about releasing them, allowing them to leave the Barrow alive and let up a bit on the man’s throat. He gasped, greedily dragging air into his lungs as he clung to Kjoll’s arm. Her mind was made up for her, however, as Soling ran at her with small knife in her hand. Kjoll snapped Bjorn’s neck without another thought and shoved his body under Soling’s feet.

The Nord tripped over the unexpected obstacle and sprawled across the floor. Kjoll was ready to fight, but the woman never stood. She gave her a rough shove with her foot. Soling flipping onto her back with an agonized gasp. Protruding from her chest was the hilt of her own dagger.

Kjoll sneered down at the bandit. “You fell on your own blade,” she scoffed. She waited for sympathy to come, but it never did. Feeling disgusted with herself, Kjoll put the dying woman out of her misery.

With a last glance around the room, Kjoll headed deeper into the ruin.

  
Along the way, a few dead skeevers littered the floor and gave evidence to at least one more bandit farther on. She followed the corridors until the sound of footsteps came to her ears. Instinctively, Kjoll stepped lighter as she made her way toward the open doorway ahead.

In the next room, a lone bandit stood with a torch in hand and Kjoll watched as he approached a lever in the center of the room. It couldn’t be more obvious to Kjoll that it was a trap, but the fact didn’t seem to dawn on the lawless man as he yanked the rod back. Immediately poisoned darts spewed from the walls, each leaving a trail of dust in their wake as they impaled their mark. The bandit fell within seconds, the torch snuffing out and his body twitching on the ground in the throes of death.

Once everything was calm again, Kjoll stepped up beside the dead man. She pushed the body to the side and inspected first the lever and then the walls, searching for a way to open the gate on the far wall. Along the west wall were a trio of stones, each depicting a different animal. Kjoll had heard of ancient Nordic puzzles like these, but had never come across them on her own.

She looked around the room for a solution and noticed a pair of stone faces hanging on the north wall above the gate. On the ground, half buried in rubble was a third face. Judging by the divet between the faces still in place, the one on the ground had been in the middle. In each of their mouths was a tablet etched with an animal.

Upon closer inspection of the stones to her left, Kjoll saw that she could easily spin them around. Wait…. Three turning stones and three faces…. Could it be that simple?

 _What could go wrong?_ Kjoll thought sarcastically as she turned the stones to match the images on the faces. First, a snake; second, another snake; and third, a whale. With a quick prayer, Kjoll yanked the lever and prepared for the worst. The only noise, however, was that of the gate being pulled up inside of the wall.

Proud of herself, Kjoll strode into the next chamber and started down a wooden staircase. Along the way were a handful skeevers which she got rid of with a few swipes of her dagger. The room off the stairs was falling apart. Debris and rubble seemed to be everywhere. She didn’t stay to look around though as she heard a voice up ahead.

“Is... is someone coming?” the stranger yelled as she descended the next slope. A Dunmer, judging by the accent on his ash cured voice. “Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?”

Kjoll hurried forward and peered through the layers spider silk. On the far end of the room, a dark elf was ensnared in a thick web sack. His head barely poked out from the top as he tried to catch a glimpse of the one he’d heard in the corridor.

“I know I ran ahead with the claw,” he said and Kjoll’s ears perked. This must be Arvel. “But I need help!”

Not seeing a way through the dense webs, Kjoll took her dagger out again to cut out a path. As she worked, a giant frostbite spider fell from its perch near the ceiling. Kjoll’s skin crawled as it’s many legs and dripping fangs skittered toward the elf. With the sticky silk out of her way, Kjoll brandished her greatsword and stepped through.

“What? Who are you?” the mer questioned. “Oh, never mind. Cut me down before that thing gets me!”

Kjoll wondered how exactly he expected her to cut him down without the massive spider killing her first. She chose not to comment and went about slashing and hacking away at the big animal’s hind legs, managing to badly maim two before the beast scuttled around.

A loud hiss burst from its mouth as it spat venom at Kjoll. The Nord ducked away from the spray and swung her sword, breaking off a fang. The long, hollow spear clattered to the ground while the spider howled in pain. Blood dripped from the arachnid’s gaping maw as it came after her again.

Arvel screamed and shouted all throughout the fight, encouraging her to kill it before it got them. Any time she neared the entrance, he would beg her not to leave him there. Kjoll wished he would shut up and let her focus. Eventually, despite the elf, she did manage to hack the spider to bits, it’s great body sagging in death with its legs scattered around the room in bloody heaps.

“Get me down,” Arvel begged. “Get me down!”

Kjoll approached the squirming bandit and eyed him with distaste.

“You did it! You killed it!” He sounded insultingly surprised. “Now cut me down before anything else shows up.”

“Where's the golden claw, Arvel?” she demanded.

“Yes, the claw,” he gasped, seemingly confused that she knew his name. “I know how it works. The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together! Help me down, and I'll show you. You won't believe the power those old Nords have hidden there.”

“Fine.” Kjoll huffed as she pulled her trusty dagger from her belt. “Let me see if I can cut you down.”

“Sweet breath of Arkay, thank you.”

Kjoll picked and cut through the silk, slowly but surely freeing the thief.

“It's coming loose,” he informed her excitedly. “I can feel it.”

A few more strands cut and the Dunmer fell free.

“The claw.” Kjoll held her hand out expectantly, her other still gripping the hilt of her dagger. Arvel laughed.

“You fool,” he spat. “Why should I share the treasure with anyone?”

Before Kjoll could grab him, the elf took off at a sprint down the passageway behind him. The spider had apparently built its web across the doorway. Kjoll chased after him, but her heavy armor slowed her down. Before she knew it, she’d followed Arvel through two empty rooms and into the first burial chamber. As he ran past the mummified remains of ancient Nords, the dead began to stir.

Kjoll stopped as a long dead man stood from his resting place, his old war axe in hand. Arvel saw him too and drew his sword. The draugr fought the elf hard, but his brittle bones couldn’t take the beating for long and he fell. A noise to her right drew Kjoll’s attention and she pulled her sword from its scabbard on her back.

Another draugr attacked and she swung her blade, the sharp edge slashing across the dead woman’s middle. The dead Nord barely staggered from a blow that would kill an ordinary human, a mere splash of old blackened blood spattered onto the ground. The draugr hissed, her dead eyes shining blue with old magic, and swung an ancient sword. The point of the blade nearly scraped Kjoll’s already wounded cheek as she leaned out of the way. Kjoll used the momentum to bring her own sword around, slicing the draugr’s head clean off.

On the other end of the room, Arvel was fighting one last enemy. Kjoll started toward them, but the elf was cut down before she could join in. The draugr now turned on Kjoll, ready to bring her the same fate.

Kjoll swung her sword and met the draugr’s battleaxe with the harsh clang of metal on metal. They both staggered back a step, but Kjoll regained her footing first and brought her weapon back around. The blade carved through the dead man’s torso, perfectly cutting him in half. Kjoll watch the abnormal light wink out of his eyes and his body fall apart. Black sludge that had once been blood and organs oozed out of the open wounds. Kjoll wrinkled her nose at the stench.

Before she could leave the foul smelling corpses behind, she had to search the dead mer’s pockets and hope she could figure out the claw on her own.

In Arvel’s pack she found, not only the claw, but a leather bound journal as well. As she thumbed through the pages, she read that the golden claw worked as a key for a sealed doorway within this very ruin.

With her findings stored in her own pack, Kjoll sidestepped a pressure stone — likely rigged to release the spiked wall standing nearby — and continued her trek downward.

At the sight of an armor-wearing body lying ahead of her, Kjoll drew her sword.

She successfully fended off four more draugr and was catching her breath when a rhythmic whooshing sound registered in her ears. Curious, she ambled toward the noise. When she found the source, however, she stopped cold.

A short corridor lead into the next chamber. The only problem, and source of the whooshes, was the half dozen massive swinging axes crisscrossing the length of the hall.

“Damn…” she muttered under her breath. She turned back to search for another way around, but came back with nothing. She shrugged, not about to turn back empty handed. “Just going to have to run through.”

They all seemed to release one after another. If she timed it correctly, Kjoll thought she could just make it across. She tightened her knapsack straps and got into position.

“1… 2… 3!”

With a quick prayer, Kjoll sprinted down the hall.

At the end, Kjoll launched herself against the wall where she hit with a clang. The echo of her collision reverberated through the tomb, waking yet another draugr that stood down the hall.


End file.
